3. Benny

THREE

BENNY

My stomach lets out a mighty roar. It's so loud that I know there's no way in hell Chris didn't hear it. There's complete silence for a full ten seconds after, and then he explodes with laughter.

"I guess you'll need nourishment before our second round?" he asks, clearly amused.

I make a sound of agreement with my face still fully pressed against the couch cushion. Even though I am starving—something that's constant for me—I don't think I can move. I did eat a lot before going up to the club, so I think I can wait for... another thirty minutes. Probably.

It's so comfortable here, sitting on top of Chris with his arm wrapped around my back. Why the hell would I want to move, anyway?

"I didn't catch that," he says.

I take a huge breath and lean back just an inch.

"I do," I say in a lazy drawl.

"Makes sense to me." He turns his face, leaning against the cushion, and I mirror him. The smile on his face is calm, serene, and there's something about it that makes my muscles relax even more. He lifts his hand and combs his finger through my still-damp hair in a totally unexpected move.

It feels good, though.

"You did just blow my mind out of this world, and that's hard work." Again, there's a lot of amusement in his tone which is a contrast to the gentleness of his hand's movements.

I don't have the mental capacity to wonder more about it right now though, so I shrug. "I'm a growing boy, I need lots and lots of food." That gets me an impossibly adorable snort.

"As soon as you're ready to move we'll order something," he says in an easy tone. I like that he doesn't rush out to leave like all my previous hookups have done before—three barely average men. The whole lot of them can't hold a candle against the man under me.

Maybe he isn't leaving, only because I mentioned us going another round later, who knows. And honestly, who cares? Certainly not me, and certainly not now.

"That was so good, I can't feel my body at all," I say, without being able to control my mouth. It always gets away from me but I don't really feel like holding back right this second.

"You're hot as fuck, Benny." There's enough seriousness in his tone for me to trust that he's telling me the truth.

"Ditto," I say and breathe in deeply.

I keep staring into his eyes, which look black in the dim lighting, and feel a rush of contentment wash over me. It was pretty lucky of me to run into him tonight. He's a good looking man, with bouncy, collar-length, dark brown hair, sharp cheekbones and full lips. There's an intensity about him that draws me in, it makes me want to grab him and take. Even after I've just had him I still want more. That's the perfect type of guy to hook up with as far as I know, and for all I know he hooks up with guys at the club every day. But the fact that he danced with me for a while, then the conversation, and the hot as fuck sex, makes me believe that yeah, I was lucky tonight to run into him. To catch his attention without even trying.

The second I have that thought, his dick slips out of me completely and makes me wince. I'm pretty sure the condom slipped out too, but I need to move my arm to check anyway. I make sure it's all out and wince again when I focus on Chris. He has a strange look on his face. Something I have no chance of deciphering since I've known him for less than two hours.

The sudden pang of regret at the fact that I probably won't ever know him well enough to learn what it means is unexpected, but I have to shove that aside. I can't go obsessing over another man who's probably as wrong for me as my straight best friend.

And with that thought, it all rushes back into my mind.

I want to groan, I want to curl up and cry, I want to throw my phone away and never have to face any of my teammates again.

Norman, because I don't know how I can hide all I'm feeling from him, and the rest of the guys because I'm pretty sure every single one of them knows about my crush.

I might've only come out of the closet to them officially last night—and Jesus, I can't believe it's only been twenty- four hours—but I'm pretty sure most of them knew about my crush on him.

"So what do you want to eat?" I ask as I shuffle away, mostly to distract myself from my thoughts, but also because I really do need to eat. And clean up, I think, when I feel the tenderness of my ass as I move my legs to sit beside him.

"Honestly I'm good with whatever."

"That's the kind of answer I was looking for. What about pizza?" I ask, nearly back to relaxed now.

There's a teasing glint in his eyes as he answers. "Pizza sounds perfect, but I have a condition, and it's an important one. It could make or break the night."

I frown at his shift in tone, not knowing what he could be talking about. "Okaaay," I drawl.

"No pineapple. At all. Ever."

I bark out a relieved laugh. "All right then." I stand. "How about we clean up, then order something."

"Good idea." He agrees readily and turns his attention back to his still semi-hard dick, the condom full and barely hanging off the tip. He slips it off and ties it, then walks with me to my bedroom and into my bathroom.

It strikes me as weirdly normal to get back into the shower to rinse off. He asks if I have a spare toothbrush, and I direct him over the sound of the water. Then we brush our teeth, side by side.

He's on his phone looking for places that deliver, while I put on sweatpants—foregoing briefs—and the pizza's on its way by the time we get back to my living room.

I feel suddenly awkward. The confidence and self-control I've had since the second he wrapped his arms around me in the club disappears in an instant .

"Can I—" he starts as he reaches the breakfast bar and turns around to look at me, but I cut him off.

"What can I get you to drink?" I ask in a rush.

He smiles at me with a gentleness that feels like a warm balmy breeze to my frayed nerves.

"Water is fine," he responds in a serene voice.

"Okay," I say, and nod a couple of times before I can make my legs move again. Then I'm off to round the breakfast bar and walk into the kitchen like my ass is on fire. I need to fucking chill, I'm well aware, but I don't quite know what I'm supposed to do, what we're gonna talk about.

I think over more than a few possibilities while I take two more water bottles out of the fridge. I'm pretty sure he knows I'm a hockey player for the Vegas franchise, but I'm not really keen to talk about that. I could ask about his job, I guess, but then he might feel like that could be too intrusive. Like I'm asking if he hooks up a lot. That's something the masochistic part of my brain wants to know, but not the rest of it. So that's out too.

I hand over the bottle silently and open mine to take a sip as soon as I have my hand free. I can't believe how difficult this is. There has to be a safe topic to talk about, right?

"So why were you out drinking and dancing by yourself?" he asks suddenly, casually.

And my stupid mouth just opens. "My best friend got a girlfriend. A serious one, since he took her to an event that..." I hedge then, and hesitate over the whole fucking thing. What the hell am I doing telling the guy I still want another round with about being in love with my best friend? I have to stop it, to somehow take it back. But when Chris looks at me, I can tell it's already too late .

"Ah," he says, like it makes perfect sense. "Is it the straight best friend?"

"How did you know?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Tale as old as time, Benny," he says with a shrug and a rueful smile.

"Yeah well..." I trail off, having no clue what I'm supposed to say now that I've made things infinitely more awkward than they were before.

"So you went out looking to get drunk, get laid," he concludes.

"Not really." I shake my head. "I mean yes. I did go out looking to get drunk, not so much the getting laid part."

And that's when it strikes me.

How can I enjoy sex so much with Chris when I'm in love with Norman? I haven't even thought about another man in three goddamn years, but today one just starts grinding up against me a little and I jump right into bed... well only metaphorically. Though it could still happen.

That right there, what the hell is that about?

I stagger back with the realization, bump clumsily against the stool, and sit on it. The force of my thoughts is too much for my legs to bear.

Am I really in love with Norman?

Is unrequited love, true love? Can it be?

How the fuck am I supposed to know? I'm only twenty-two years old.

I'd never been in love before Norman. I'd been in lust, and even strong like , but nothing like what I feel for Norman. Felt?

Am I really that flighty?

I consider myself to be a one-man man, but I just got the best fuck of my life with a hot as hell guy while pining for my best friend.

Am I an idiot? A hypocrite?

The doorbell rings before I can figure out any answers to the million questions plaguing my mind.

"I'll get it," Chris says softly, looking at me with... God, that's the worst possible thing he could be looking at me with. Pity.

And now I probably won't get that round two I was so excited about not even two minutes ago.

Great.

Resigned, I throw the crust of my fourth slice in the box and lie all the way down on the couch.

There's been only silence since Chris came back with the giant pizza in his hands. I directed him back to the couch we fucked on, and stewed while we ate.

To his credit, Chris didn't try to make an excuse to leave. At least, not yet.

He just sat down next to me, passed me a napkin, then started eating. I wouldn't say the silence was awkward exactly, mostly because of how fucking loud my head has been the whole time.

I know he's been throwing me glances every few minutes, but I haven't gotten up the courage to try and decipher to what extent I fucked up our hook-up.

"I'm sorry," I say at last.

"For what?" he asks, and the sharpness of the question makes me finally risk a glance at him. His face is scrunched up in confusion, but the intensity from before is still there.

"For making things awkward," I say like it's obvious, because it is , while I let out a relieved breath. Semi-relieved at least.

"Benny." He wipes his mouth and fingers then turns his body, bringing one leg to rest on the couch, and looks at me dead on—and I'm trapped by those dark eyes. "I hope you realize I'm not trying to hurt you by saying this, but we just met." He makes a marked pause with a raised eyebrow. I'm confused as to where he's going with this.

"I know," I mumble.

"You having a crush, or whatever you want to call it, on another man isn't going to hurt my feelings. We fucked, it was hot as all hell, and I really hope you're still up for a second round, but I understand if you're not. I won't hold it against you or shout at you or whatever. I?—"

"But I do want to!" I interrupt way too loudly.

"Okay," Chris says with a bright smile. He shrugs again. "Just know that you don't owe me anything. You get to feel whatever you want to feel. You get to process what happened today however the hell you want to. If you want to break out the tequila and get back to your previous level of drunkenness, or get even more shitfaced, then I'll be here, and I'll listen. Hell, I'll even tuck you in when you pass out. I'm not just gonna leave because you're dealing with something. That would be too much of an asshole move even for me."

"Wow," I whisper. That's all I can manage. "You really wouldn't mind hearing me whine for hours about how I'm in love with my straight best friend?"

He turns away to the coffee table and reaches for his water. "I mean, if that's what you want, then sure," he says, as he uncaps it. "And look, I know dick-all about love, and I won't pretend, but from what I've heard through the grapevine, when you're in love, you don't go home with an incredibly handsome man that grinds against you in the club." He lets the silence stretch for a long moment while I process his words. "I'm not saying I know what you feel better than you do, or that you shouldn't seek alcoholic help after what happened today. I'm not even gonna tell you to get over him by getting under me. It's just food for thought, you know?" He basically shatters my belief system, then he's taking a large gulp of water all casual-like. I'm reeling and watching all the interesting movements of his throat when I remember how his hand felt pressed against my own throat, how that's what pushed me over the edge when he was giving me the fuck of a lifetime.

That's the perfect excuse to not think about everything he just said.

Unlike my previous sexual partners, Chris didn't mind letting me take the lead. Actually, I'm pretty sure he liked it. And that thought is what makes the choice of what to say so easy.

"How about an hour-long foreplay and then you make good on your promise to fuck me into my mattress?"

The devilishly dark smirk I get in answer tells me all I need to know. I stand when he does, and I promise myself I'll put all thoughts of Norman out of my head for the next twelve hours.

I'll have plenty of time to sort through them in the next couple of weeks. Tonight, Chris is here. Tonight, I get to not be the "forever rookie" everyone babies. Tonight, I get to simply enjoy myself with another man who knows how to make my body soar.

I take his hand for only the second time ever and drag him to my bedroom. My bed is still unmade from when I scrambled to get ready this morning, two sets of clothes are on the floor next to my bed, and I have to bite back the apology for the mess. I should've picked up when I came in to take a shower but I had horniness-induced tunnel vision.

I don't have to apologize for anything. The sheets are clean enough, and that's all that matters.

I go to the bedside drawer and get the still-sealed pack of condoms I bought a couple of months ago for some reason. I hold it up for Chris to see then toss it on the bed, then take the almost empty bottle of lube out too and do the same.

His dark smirk is still in place as he watches me take off my sweatpants, get on the bed, and lie down to wait for him to join me.

I get the sexiest strip show of my life and get a nice surprise when I see how ripped he is. Not as much as me, but then again, he's not a professional athlete. Which only makes how ripped he is way more impressive.

I get to see his thick thighs revealed centimeter by centimeter. I get to see an animalistic predatory glint come into Chris's eyes, and I get every single reward it promises. He delivers on the one-hour foreplay, playing with my hole, hitting my prostate to make me desperate and whiny—which is something I think he likes—giving tiny licks and sucks to my dick, and not letting me touch him at all.

I let him set the pace, and follow his lead until I reach my limit.

I spring into action, and rise on all fours with my ass pointed right at him when I can't take it anymore. "Fuck me now, Chris," I growl desperately.

Thankfully, he gets the message that I'm done with being edged. He enters me fully in one slow thrust. He gives me ten seconds to adjust to the feeling of fullness, and then...

Well, being fucked into the mattress is what I wanted, and again, Chris delivers.

It's by far the most explosive sex and orgasm of my life, and even after we're done, after we cleaned up again, after we get settled in bed, I have a smile firmly plastered on my face. I might be in denial land, I might have to face the sad fact that I am as immature as all my teammates think, but that's a problem for future Benny.

Present Benny passes out in seconds and has the best sleep of his life.